I saw the creature as plain as day, but later I became afraid that it was a hallucination. (Hallucinating is one of the Parkinson's disease symptoms that up until then, I hadn't had to deal with.)
I walk along the north shore of the lake every day, trying my best to get some of the only known thing to slow the progression of this disease – exercise. I usually walk to my brother's house, about a mile, with a steep trail through the trees for the last hundred yards. It gets my pulse rate up and I'm usually pretty winded when I climb up the steps to his deck.
The creature I saw that windy spring day, (I hesitate to call it a monster, because that conjures up images of Godzilla, or the Beast From 20,000 Fathoms,) surfaced about 50 feet out from the rocky shoreline, raised it's head on a slender neck, water plants trailing from it's mouth, and looked straight at me. It's tail poked out of the water at least ten feet back. I Looked frantically around for a fisherman, or someone who could confirm what I was seeing, but there was no one, and when I looked back there was nothing but a swirl on the wind tossed water.
I searched my brain for an explanation. Otters, Beavers, Nutria and diving birds, all came to mind and were quickly discarded. I had seen it too clearly. It's head was larger than a football and it had a neck, which meant it couldn't have been a Sturgeon, which is the usual explanation for some of the other Oregon “lake monsters.” That left me with two possibilities – either there was a creature of some kind in Eckman Lake, or my Parkinson's had progressed to the point where I was starting to get visual hallucinations.
Eckman Lake is a small, shallow, 50 acre lake created when the construction of highway 34 dammed up Eckman Creek. It's fed by the stream on the south end and empties into Alsea Bay at the north end, under the highway. It's a short two mile trip from the Pacific Ocean to the lake, and during the winter, high water and high tides flood it with bay water, allowing Salmon and Steelhead to swim through the lake to their spawning grounds upstream. Larger creatures could easily enter the lake at that time, but in the summer it's warm, mossy and full of water plants.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, hoping for another glimpse to prove to myself that I wasn't seeing things. The choppy surface of the lake revealed nothing. Eventually I turned and resumed my walk, shaking my head and wondering if I should tell anyone what I'd seen. By the time I reached JC's house I had decided to keep my sighting, or hallucination to myself, at least for a while.
As usual, my brother brought out a couple of glasses of wine for us, and we relaxed under the cool shade of the awning over his deck. We talked about the usual things; our computers, the news and the weather. While we talked my mind was racing with worries about my incurable disease that seemed to be progressing into another phase. I had almost convinced myself that what I'd seen had to be all in my mind. What next, I wondered, Pink Elephants?
On the way home in JC's car, as we passed the lake I turned in my seat and searched futilely for anything unusual, but there was nothing. A man and a little girl were fishing from the bank close to where I had seen, or thought I'd seen, a prehistoric creature, a plant eating dinosaur.
Later that evening I sat down at the computer and googled “aquatic dinosaurs.” I quickly found out that I should have searched for “aquatic reptiles,” as all dinosaurs were land dwelling. I found several that were fifteen to twenty feet in length and had long necks, but they were all fish eaters. “Ecky” as I fondly named it, seemed to be a plant eater. Whether it was a creation of my dopamine deprived brain or an actual survivor from an ancient era, thoughts of Ecky kept me awake most of the night.
The next morning was bright and sunny, so I put my fishing gear in my kayak, put the wheels on it and pulled it to the lake. Ten minutes later I was paddling out past the boat dock where a couple of old timers were sitting in lawn chairs and lazily fishing. I considered asking them if they'd seen any large green reptiles, but thought better of it, and just waved. One of them yelled, “Going out to get the big one, eh?” I sincerely hope not! I thought.
I paddled out to my favorite spot where a cold water spring attracts trout, especially when the lake warms up in the summer, and fished for a while. Every splash from a diving Kingfisher or a rising trout would startle me and I finally stowed my fishing rod, leaned back and let the gentle wind blow me slowly toward the south end of the lake, watching for any sign of Ecky.
The problem with believing that there really was a large beast of some kind living in the lake was that it was just too shallow. With polarized sunglasses I could see the water plants growing on the bottom in most places.
I shaded the reflection of the sun with my hand, and through the murky water I watched the bottom slowly glide by as I drifted. I caught glimpses of trails cleared of plants, like underwater highways, and some of them seemed too big to be made by otters or beavers.
As I neared the upper end of the lake I paddled my way through the winding inlet to a large culvert which allows the stream to pass under a gravel road. It was at least ten feet in diameter and mostly submerged in a deep hole. As I sat looking at it I realized it would be a perfect hiding place for my creature. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when the thought crossed my mind that it could be in there, looking up out of the darkness at me.
I carry my camera with me now on my walks, but I haven't seen any creature to take a picture of, on the other hand though, if it was a hallucination I haven't had any more of them.
Every day at the lake when I see someone fishing or kayaking, I wave and ask them how they're doing, hoping that one day someone will answer with, “You won't believe what I just saw!”
